


Skin Deep

by Im_A_Giraffe1979



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Goodneighbor (Fallout), Pre-Relationship, Tension, artsy Sole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21755104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_A_Giraffe1979/pseuds/Im_A_Giraffe1979
Summary: A collection of short works based around John Hancock and Nora, except Nora is eccentric and very into art and sculpting.
Relationships: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Kudos: 12





	1. A Different Sort of Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really just here to write weird things

Diamond city had been a bit of a letdown. Sanctuary was her town, but it was still pre-bombs, everything there just looked like the past. So here she was, in the next biggest settlement in the Commonwealth. The one that got all the mixed revues, some hate it, some love it. Nora, she was never one to let other people’s opinions get in her way.

A man stood at the gate, it you could call it that, worn leathers, face so pockmarked it looked like a field that had been blown up by land mines. The sort she liked to toy with.

“Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor? Can’t go walking around without some insurance.” He lit a cigarette as he talked, taking a long drag.

“Oh yeah man I hear you, car insurance, renters, homeowners, had it all back in the day. I know a guy, could sell you some real cheap.” She said, inching her way closer to the man. A feral grin spreading over her face.

“I don’t think you’re getting the picture here doll. I’m the one selling, you’re the one buying.” He grinned, showing off a set of candy corn yellow teeth.

“Here’s the deal, you hand over everything you got in them pockets, or ‘accidents’ start happenin’ to ya. Big, bloody, accidents.” His face morphed into a grimace and the sheen of sweat and yellowed nicotine on his face cracked. She reached in her pocket, searching for the small knife, the one to easiest to conceal, when a voice started up from across the pavilion.

“Whoa, whoa, time out.” A ghoul in a leather tri-corn and long red coat turned away from his conversation and made his way over to them.

“Someone steps through the gate the first time, they’re a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.” His voice was deep and raspy like all ghouls, but something about it sent a shiver down Nora’s spine. That was the kind of voice she could listen to all day.

“What d’you care? She ain’t one of us.” They pulled up to each other, close enough for some good old, direct eye contact, but far enough to be out of stabbing range.

“No love for your mayor Finn? I said let her go.” The ghoul adjusted the sleeves of his coat, tugging them into place.

“You’re soft Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there’ll be a new mayor.” Other people were emerging from the alleys to watch, their eyes glued to the pair.

“Come on man, this is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something…” The ghoul started walking up to Finn, placing a hand on his shoulder, a knife materializing in the other hand. He stabbed it quickly into Finns gut, once, twice, then left him to collapse on the ground.

“Now why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breaking my heart over here.” He lamented at Finns corpse.

“You alright sister?” his attention moved to Nora. What had Finn called him? Hancock? She examined him, looking him up and down for a good minute before cocking her head to the side.

“What’s wrong sunshine, never seen a ghoul this good-looking before?” he joked, sheathing the knife.

“Hancock was it? Seems like you already know you’re pretty, so do me a favor?” The ghoul’s eyes widened just a hair as she approached, slinking right into his personal space and placing a hand lightly on his chest. The crowd had dispersed at this point and the two of them were the only one’s remaining. She leaned into his ear, feeling his warm breath on her neck.

“If I ever find some clay, let me sculpt you, you’d look great in porcelain.” Hancock blinked rapidly, frozen for a moment as Nora pulled her hand away and started off towards the alley.

“Until then pretty ghoul man.” She yelled over her shoulder, waving as she disappeared down the alley. Hancock seemed to snap out of his trance and spun around, about to run after her when loud laughter stopped him.

“Not frequent that a new-comer gets the drop on you Hancock.” Fahrenheit stepped out of the shadows where she’d been watching the whole event unfold.

“No time to talk now Fahr, I’ve got a smoothskin I need to find.”  



	2. A Second Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's back and she's brought her clay.

“She’s back.” Fahrenheit’s voice cut through the mental fog clouding Hancock’s head. The jet was particularly strong today.

“You’re gonna have to elaborate on that Fahr, which she?” he slouched further into the couch, his hat slipping down over his eyes. A voice cleared itself from behind Fahrenheit and the little sculptor lady from before stepped out from behind the bodyguard, a big bag of something slung over her shoulder.

“I found some clay.” She said, eyes bright. Hancock’s eyebrows, or at least the places they were supposed to be raised slowly.

“Now I didn’t think you were serious about that little comment sister.” He said, sitting up and cracking every bone in his neck and shoulders.

“It’s not like you have to do anything, just sit there and look pretty.” She said, moving into the room further and glancing around.

“Now that’s my favorite kind of work.” He nodded at Fahrenheit and she withdrew from the room, closing the door. The world moved slowly around Hancock as he stood up, the girl walking around his room and finally settling at a mostly bare table.

“So, should I strip or just describe myself naked?” he asked, watching her pull a set of strangely shaped tools out of her bag.

“I was really just thinking from the shoulders up, but if you wanna tell me how you look naked I won’t stop ya.” She said, resting an elbow on the table and looking up at him, he found a stool with a backrest and set it in front of the table, straddling the backrest he sat and rested his elbows on it. Shapes and light danced lazily around her blonde hair and he wanted so badly to reach out and just run his fingers through it.

“In that case, I’ll start with the missing toe.” She laughed, the shapes growing brighter at that mirthful sound.

“Missing toe got it. Do you miss it?” she asked, pulling a large tote of gray clay out of the bag and plopping it on the table. Then followed something that looked a little too much like a giant wooden dildo.

“Only when I walk down the stairs at night. Question real quick, how involved is this sculpting process sister, because depending on what you’re using that for, I think I may have a better substitute.” He drug a finger across chin, looking at her phenomenal figure and the shapes that floated lazily over it.

“I don’t think sculpting a bust of your head on your dick with ten pounds of clay would be a good plan for anybody but if that’s what you’re into.” She scraped a piece of clay off the block and smacked it on the wooden pole, right where his face would be.

“Haven’t tried it to know, but I’ll let you sculpt me anywhere, anytime sunshine.” He smirked, leaning in to watch.

“You don’t know my name, do you?” she asked, slapping more clay on until the whole thing was covered in gray. Colors danced over the earth before Hancock’s eyes and he could already see how it resembled him. Why was he letting her immortalize his ugly mug again? 

“Never caught it, no.” he glanced at his own hand, the shapes filling in the holes in his skin.

“It’s Nora.” She said.

“Nora.” He turned it over in his mind, the gears particularly rusty today. After a few minutes he brought his thoughts back.

“Where’d you find the clay, Nora?” he asked, watching as she made a mess of his favorite table, the one where he signed all the important documents. Not that he cared.

“Finding it wasn’t hard, the earth has plenty. Getting it into workable shape was what took me so long. I had to pick all the rocks out, make sure it was evenly wet, not too dry… homogenous.” He smirked.

“There’s a ten-cap word. Hom-og-eonous. And why go to all that trouble to make a sculpture of some ghoul you met once?” he asked, watching her eyes as the focused on the clay.

“I saw something worth remembering. A face, a presence.” Her voice lilted as she spoke, like her thoughts weren’t all behind it, a daydream. Hancock paused no witty retort left his lips. How did she do that to him so easily?

“Where are you from sunshine, cause I haven’t ever met anyone like you before?” Nora paused in her work.

“Here, the Commonwealth.” She scraped a chunk of clay off what he could only guess was his neck. Hancock didn’t believe her for a second, but it was beyond him to question why anyone would hide their past, he knew why he did it.

“Same as me then, we have a lot in common ya know.” 

“Tell me about it. Who’s your favorite artist?” she asked, a smug smile spreading over her face. Hancock didn’t even look, he just pointed one wrinkled finger back over his shoulder at the painting on the wall.

“Those are barns, a good choice, but I don’t know who did it.” She said, taking a moment to look over the painting.

“Huh.” Hancock turned around. The painting was of a bunch of old guys in his type of digs gathered in a room, no barns.

“Made ya look.” Her voice taunted him quietly back towards her.

“Ya got me sweetheart, wanna know what your prize is.” He asked, resettling into his former position.

“I already know. Turn your head into the light a little.” He hummed keeping his eyes on her. The buzz was wearing off already and the lights around her faded. She was still gorgeous. He was so distracted that he barely noticed her wipe her hands off, stand, and walk around the table until she was right in front of him. He had to look up to find her grass green eyes now.

“Don’t mind me, just need to know what texture I’m going for here.” Her hands still lightly covered in drying clay came up to his cheeks. Her fingers were gentle and warm as they probed every crevice and cranny his rad-torn face had to offer. They were slow, dwelling around where his lips and nose used to be. She skimmed over his jaw and the large wrinkles on his forehead, and the skin around his eyes that was almost normal, almost human. They went down his neck, caressed the skin and the fabric in ways no one else had. Her hands were looking at him along with her eyes. More than anyone had ever looked at him before, at least since he’d turned ghoul. And there was no fear there, he’d like to say that was a look of wonder on her face, which would be one of the nicest reactions he’d had to his ghoulified skin. Still the way she looked at him made him feel like she was looking through his skin, deep into his mangled soul. He’d have already pulled away if her hands hadn’t felt so nice. So warm he just wanted to nuzzle into them and so smooth like everything he used to be. This was a type of intimacy he’d never experienced before and he felt the want for it curling deep in his chest, pushing other feelings aside, lust and fear were shoved from the limelight and this want settled in, hot and heavy. 

When her hands retreated, they stole a little air from his lungs, wisping it right out his mouth with everything but a sigh. His skin was warm all over, like a blush except without the color. He felt winded as she sat across from him, like coming down off the best high, except his jet had worn off long ago.

“Now there’s an expression worth remembering, don’t move a muscle.” She commanded, and he didn’t until several hours later when her hands were cramping, and they decided to call it a night.  



	3. Contemplation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock is left alone with his own bust for awhile

She’d told him that the finished bust had to stay in the State House until it was dry enough to be fired. He didn’t know exactly what that meant but he’d taken care of it exactly like she ordered. She’d said it had to dry slowly, so Hancock found an old bottle and spritzed the outside a couple times a day while it dried from within. She’d said it should remain covered, so he carefully wrapped it up in a bag she’d left for him after every spritzing. She said don’t jostle it, because it’s still soft and can easily be dented, so he treated it like a baby, not that he knew anything about kids.

It was fine, except for when it was uncovered. Then he could see his face in 3D, and the expression she’d captured was one he’d never seen on his own face before. The sculpture did weird things to his gut, made his heart race every time he so much as glanced at it, even under the bag. What had she seen in him to make something like this? Fahrenheit questioned it once then moved on, but it stuck in the back of Hancock’s mind like mirelurk guts stick in the soles of your boots. And her, she stuck in his head too. Every time he saw himself now, he thought of her, and those hands. He found he couldn’t say yes to any of his regulars looking for ‘tours of the town’. Nothing they had to offer seemed like it could compare to her. With his regulars it was all superficial, and as much as he was a people-pleaser, he couldn’t quite bring himself to it now. He was being selfish, and he knew it, but thinking about those hands was enough to keep him up all night. If his thoughts even drifted to how intense the rest of her would be he thought he might have to get Fahrenheit to douse him with cold rainwater. He didn’t know how he would manage to talk to Nora the next time they met.

Another week went by and he slowly cut down on the spritzing, eventually giving it some time out from underneath the bag. He would go and sit, and just stare at it for hours. Sometimes he did his work at the table with it, so both the Hancock’s could supervise Goodneighbor. Fahrenheit said it was unhealthy, but when had he ever been known to do something for his health. 

One day he was examining it, as had become his ritual, after taking a dose of jet. The skin of the bust was dry now, a dusty light grey. The shapes and colors swirled around his own head and for once he thought he saw what Nora saw when she sculpted it. The high filled in the colors and the shapes danced about the bust reflecting light until the cracks and crevices looked like mountains and valleys. His face was a landscape, more beautiful than anything he could find out in the wasteland.

“Am I your new favorite artist now?” a voice from the door rang out. If it wasn’t for the jet coursing through his brain he’d have jumped out of his raggedy skin. Instead he just sat there.

“No.” he said, still looking himself in the eye. She approached the table slowly, looking at the twin Hancock’s.

“I lied before, you’ve been my favorite artist ever since you slapped clay on a dildo and called it me.” His lifted his dark eyes to her.

“Been in the jet again John?” she came around the table and laid a hand on his shoulder. Those perfect hands, so talented.

“Always sunshine, but I don’t need Jet to know that no one’s ever looked at me as deeply as you did when you made this. That’s enough to make you my favorite artist, even if the sculpture turned out like crap, you’d have been my favorite.” She squeezed his shoulder, smiling down at him.

“I have some errands to run John, wanna come with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure if I'll write any more of this, but maybe.


End file.
